


The Office Temp, the Witch and the Wardrobe

by Days_of_yawn



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, F/F, Fantasy, Lesbian AU, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Days_of_yawn/pseuds/Days_of_yawn
Summary: Trixie is an office temp and bored out of her tiny mind. After a particularly terrible day, she meets Katya, and life begins to change in strange and mysterious ways.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wish me luck, this is my first fic in this fandom, though a long-time lurker. I'm also patently not American so may have messed up some references/spelling along the way. If anyone might be able to help me with that in the future, I'd be pathetically grateful. Enjoy the bad puns and unnecessary waffle!

Trixie was deathly bored. The switchboard had been silent all morning. Its stubborn inactivity was unnerving somehow, like it was issuing a silent challenge to the office as a whole. Trixie stared it down apprehensively, daring it to make a sound. She adjusted her headset, picked up the receiver to check for a dial tone.

Still nothing. Time crawled to a standstill.

She occupied herself chipping her freshly painted nails by tapping them impatiently on the reception desk, and did as much online shopping as her maxed-out credit cards would allow.

A faceless mass of grey suits trooped past her on their way in to sit at other desks and compete for who could feel the most important whilst not actually achieving anything of note. Some called out a generic greeting to Trixie. One referred to her as ‘dollface’ and leered at her tits as they passed by. Trixie answered with a throwaway cheery reply and humorless smile.

This was only her third day on the job, but she’d seen it all before.

The temping agency had been excited by the prospect of offering Trixie an entire month worth of work. In the transient world of temporary contracts, this was practically a steady job. She’d been with the agency for two years now, mostly doing odd weeks here and there in identikit concrete and glass office blocks. She never got to know anyone, and most of the time wasn’t even sure what type of business she was working in. Trixie wasn’t dumb though, the specifics were irrelevant - she knew full well why they hired her. Her carefully coiffed bright blonde hair, exaggerated make up and trusty skintight blouse and pencil skirt combo never failed her in a job interview.

It was always the same routine - show up, sit pretty on the front desk, smile and greet visitors, collect paycheck. A tedious cycle, but it suited Trixie’s needs. She was something of a loner anyway, so exchanging polite chit chat over the water cooler with colleagues just didn’t really appeal to her. By keeping her distance and never staying too long in one place, she avoided forced comradery, and it freed up time to focus on more important pursuits.

In the evenings, Trixie played local bars and restaurants, crooning well-worn country songs in battered pink cowboy boots. If she was lucky, she could get away with singing one original song per set, and she basically lived for those moments. She wrote lyrics late at night when she should be fast asleep, during her lunchbreak, in the bathroom, any time she had a spare minute. One day, she thought fiercely, one day someone who actually mattered would hear the passion poured into those words. The way she sang her own songs, those special ones that belonged only to her, closing her eyes and leaning into them with her whole body. Then it’d all be worth it.

Trixie yawned, and put down her headset, rubbing tired eyes that had been staring blankly at an empty screen for hours.

Somehow, magically, it was 4:45pm.

She swung back on her chair and chanced a glance at her manager's office to see if she could get away with leaving a bit early. She had a hot date lined up with a bubble bath and reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The manager (Jim? Tim? Something like that) was scrolling on their cell in an eager and intense way that probably meant porn. Trixie took the opportunity for escape and hotfooted it out of the office as fast as her patent wedges could carry her.

Bursting through the door, she emerged into a fully-fledged rainstorm. Swearing loudly she bolted in the vague direction of her car.

The downpour only worsened on the route home. The windscreen wipers could barely handle the deluge, and she struggled to see the road ahead. Trixie’s ancient seventh-hand car had been teetering on the brink of heading to the scrapheap for years, and now it faltered under the onslaught. She was hardly surprised that when navigating a slight incline in the road, the engine whined and sputtered before cutting out completely.

She tried to stem the rising tide of panic, and let the car roll to a halt, steering to the side of the road, and pulling up on a random side street in front of a suspiciously grim-looking row of independent stores.

Trixie sighed and rested her head on the steering wheel for a long moment. This day was going from bad to worse.

Grabbing her purse from the back seat she dug around for her cell but couldn’t find it in any of the usual pockets, and ended up emptying the entire contents onto the passenger seat in the process. Of course, she’d left it at work, still sitting on the empty reception desk. For fucksake. The panic was settling into a general nausea by this point and she cast around wildly for possible sources of rescue.

Her gaze fell on the store nearest to the car. It was a lurid shade of violet, paint kind of patchy and peeling off in places. Hand-painted gold lettering over the darkened windows read ‘Katya’s Magic Box’. Trixie laughed shortly, maybe she didn’t need to watch those Buffy reruns after all.

Steeling herself, she jumped out the car, dodging puddles before viciously shoving her way into the store. The door jangled piercingly, and Trixie squeaked and staggered forwards, almost falling headfirst through the doorway, before catching herself and clinging onto a gigantic, roughly-hewn wooden owl sculpture wonkily propped up against the wall.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you, it’s cursed.”

Trixie jumped sideways away from the offending item immediately. “Cursed? What do you mean cursed?” she exclaimed shrilly, peering into the gloom trying to locate the source of the disembodied voice.

“I mean…” a woman stepped forward from nowhere in particular, and advanced menacingly, a ratty brown crochet shawl covering her face. Trixie backed towards the door, grasping for the handle. “…it might slip your mind at first. Perhaps you’ll forget about old Edgar here completely. But then, in six years time…when you least expect it…you’ll….”

“yes?” Trixie whispered in a hushed voice, cowering in her corner, as the creepy figure slowly raised an arm and pointed a long black talon directly into her face.

“…You’ll still be a gullible idiot” A raucous laugh emanated from under the shawl, accompanied by wildly waving arms, which threw the shawl into the corner of the room to reveal a riot of messy blonde hair, charcoal-rimmed eyes and alarmingly bright red lipstick. The young woman continued to laugh and grasped at Edgar the owl for support while she wheezed silently, bent double with mirth.

Trixie was silently furious. As if she hasn’t been messed about enough today, this insane stranger nearly caused her to piss her pants in terror, and now she had the cheek to laugh at her misery?!

“What the actual hell is wrong with you?” Trixie’s blood boiled. “You can’t just go around scaring everybody like that! I could’ve lashed out and taken an eye out or something. I should’ve! That’d serve you right! You don’t deserve two eyes!”

The Insane Stranger scoffed “Oh please, mama, I wouldn’t do that for just anyone who walked in here. You’re special, you should feel honored. Greetings, valued and highly esteemed guest. I’m Katya, and welcome to my Magic Box ” She waggled her eyebrows and made an exaggerated bow to Trixie, who stared back nonplussed for a moment, unsure how to react, then all of a sudden her anger evaporated, the tension dropped from her shoulders, and she surprised herself by letting out a snort of laughter.

“You’re ridiculous. How do you ever get any customers?”

“Oh I don’t. This store is just a front for my assassin’s guild meetings out back. Anyone you fancy bumping off?”

Trixie squealed with laughter “I’m not sure you could handle the epic length of my kill list”

“I assure you we’re extremely efficient and discreet”

“I doubt anything about you fulfils the terms of that description”

As she spoke, almost unconsciously, Trixie had been stepping forward into the darkened, incense-clouded confines of the store, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom it became increasingly obvious that she had stepped into a hoarder’s dream world.

There was just stuff everywhere, stuff stacked in other larger stuff, random objects piled up in mountainous heaps in the corners of the room, shelves teeming with knick knacks, dog-eared books, glass bottles containing mysterious substances, and what felt like hundreds of those ratty shawls in a bewildering array of patterns and colors. The glassy eyes of taxidermy forest creatures followed Trixie around the room as she gazed about her, mouth hanging open. The walls were midnight blue and patterned with tiny golden stars, and dusty floorboards were covered by Persian rugs that were more hole than rug. It was quicker to describe what this shop didn’t sell than what it did.

“I have to say, business Barbie, you’re not exactly my typical clientele. Are you looking for something specific? Novelty desk item? A present for that one weird colleague that smells a bit funny?”

Trixie spun on her heel and faced Katya head on. Her expression had softened now, and having noticed Trixie’s obvious distressed appearance and damp clothing, Katya offered up a wide and sincere smile, making her appear ever so slightly less unstable in the process. Trixie felt the smile physically warm her up, and she temporarily forgot why she’d entered the store in the first place and just grinned back dumbly.

“Yes! A call! I mean, I need to make a call. Can I borrow your cell? See my car broke down outside, and I can’t get home, and I’ve had the worst day and I just need…a…a…” Trixie was horrified when tears started to seep out of her eyes and run down her face, probably ruining her make-up in the process.

“Oh no, don’t do that. Come on, let’s sit down over here. No weeping, sad flower child” Trixie felt, rather than saw, the store owner take her ever-so gently by the elbow and guide her towards a leather armchair. The tower of crochet magazine that had been previously been occupying the space were shoved to the floor unceremoniously, and she collapsed backwards gratefully. Katya briefly squeezed her elbow, and asked her if she’d like a hot drink of some kind, listing about 30 possible kinds of tea available. “I’ve only got sad instant coffee I’m afraid” Katya’s bright smile faltered at her own inadequacy.

“I’ll go for a peppermint tea please”

“Oh thank god, I thought for a minute you were going to choose the Instant, and I’d be forced to throw you back out in the street.”

Katya did her sudden disappearing act again, and Trixie was left all alone in the store. She folded her arms and ran her fingertips over her elbow, which tingled slightly where the imprint of Katya’s hand had been. Trixie couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched her like that, with such evident empathy and kindness. Internally, she was conflicted. At least half of her brain was left wondering what the hell she was doing still sitting here in this bizarre Aladdin’s cave of a room being served tea by a potential lunatic, but the other half was buzzing with a strange kind of energy, dying to see what happens next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, sorry this took me a ridiculously long time to update. I was distracted by starting another fic that I'm supremely excited about. Also I have zero focus. Anyway, enjoy.

Monday morning and Trixie was back at her desk/prison. On the surface of it, she’d had a busy weekend: her sister was getting married in a fortnight and had roped Trixie into her event planning frenzy, making twee cake pop favors and wrapping ribbons around everything in sight. But all she’d really done for 95% of her waking hours (and some of her non-waking hours too) was obsess over the strange and wonderful events of the previous week. Going into that bizarre store, and meeting its even more eccentric owner. Even after an hour with her, waiting for roadside assistance and listening to Katya talk animatedly about the most obscure subjects – yo-yo’s, the intelligence of crows, that time she’d fallen into a swamp and nearly been eaten whole by a hungry alligator, Trixie still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask for Katya’s number. What an idiot.

Trixie groaned and rested her head in her hands, ignored the phone when it started ringing. On Sunday she’d had tried to pop in to say thank you but couldn’t find the shop – must’ve turned down the wrong road or something. She was sure it should be right there, but couldn’t see any sign of the distinctive violet painted store front. Confused, she’d turned around and headed back to the Starbucks where she was meeting her sister.

Trixie pondered her options while she sorted the mail. She concocted and just as quickly rejected five different plans whilst photocopying a pile of boring documents and filing them haphazardly. She started several emails and pressed send when they were only half-finished because she was too busy imagining Katya showing up at one of her gigs, demanding to be serenaded. She looked resplendent in black lace like a ravishing, vengeful widow. Perhaps she brought with her a single, blood red rose.

Trixie wondered what kind of music Katya would like to be serenaded to, probably something as strange and otherworldly as she was. Perhaps some Kate Bush or Bjork. Trixie simultaneously resolved to start learning the chords to Wuthering Heights that very evening and stapled her fingernail to a quarterly report.

Trixie was so lost in her daydreams that she didn’t even notice the phone ringing, until her manager poked his head around the door and yelled at her to answer it. She gave the generic company greeting but was interrupted by an obnoxious squeal at the other end of the line.

“Trixiiiiiie”

She immediately tensed up, fingers digging into the receiver nervously. “Yes, who is this?”

“It’s me, Katya, of course! You remember, from the batshit store last week?”

“Yeah I remember. How did you get this number? I never even told you where I was working!”

“I have my ways, young Jedi”

“Didn’t peg you for a Star Wars fan, Katya”

In response, Katya’s lightsaber impersonation was so ear-piercingly loud that Trixie had to hold the phone a good foot away from her ear to hear herself think.

“Pretty impressive right? It’s okay to be intimidated by my skills, Trixie, you can admit it - this is a safe space.”

Trixie snorted uncontrollably. “Firstly, this is not a safe space, in any sense of the word. This is my office, I’m supposed to be doing some form of work. Secondly, the only skill you have is deafening innocent office temps, just trying to look like they’re busy in peace.”

“Innocent my fat ass. Put your manager on the phone”

“What? No!”

“Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaase? I want to mess with him. Tell him I’m the regional area coordinator calling to check up on his…monthly statisticals.”

“You know that’s not a thing, right?” Trixie tried to hold it back, but she couldn’t help but giggle a little.

“I could persuade him that it’s a thing. Don’t forget that I’m a seasoned businesswoman Trixie, I’m down with all the lingo. I own a pant suit! Do not doubt that I could network the shit out of Jim/Tim”

“Sounds gross, please don’t.” Trixie’s shoulders shook with the effort of keeping her laughter strictly professional. “Anyway, haven’t you got a store to run?”

Katya let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, I am very busy and important. What I was calling to say was, mine’s a black filter. Don’t go ruining a perfectly good caffeine hit with any sugar or caramel shit”

“You what now?”

“Catch ya later, Barbie girl” The line went dead, and Trixie stared at the handset, baffled, until a polite cough brought her back into the room. The mail man was back and offering her some leaflet or other.

“Sorry ma’am, must’ve dropped this on my way out the elevator.”

Trixie took the leaflet and saw it was a 241 coupon for the fancy coffee bar round the corner from the office. Weird coincidence. Maybe Katya had heard about the offer too? Trixie excitedly resolved to drop by the Magic Box to thank her for her help with a caffeine-based offering as soon as her shift was over.

Two hours later, she was back on that same run-down street gazing at the outside of Katya’s store in confusion. She was sure this was the street she’d checked the other day, and the violently purple storefront had been nowhere in sight. Maybe she was losing it, after all. Shrugging, Trixie pushed the door open, careful not to disturb Edgar-the-owl in the process.

Katya was standing right behind the door. Trixie nearly simultaneously had a heart attack, and threw scalding coffee everywhere. Luckily, she caught herself just in time.

“Christ, will you quit scaring the life out of me the minute I get in here?!”

Katya chuckled, grabbing the drinks out of her shaking hands and dropping them carelessly onto a pile of books on the mystical properties of squirrels. “No can do, coffee wench. Scaring’s my favorite. Gotta keep a girl entertained.”

“At the expense of my sanity and dignity, that’s cool.” Trixie collapsed into the battered armchair which was surprisingly free of clutter, and concentrated on calming down her hammering heart, which was most definitely caused by the shock, and not at all by the close presence of the irrepressible store owner, today dressed as some kind of river nymph, in a flowing pale green gown and a truly objectionable mussel shell necklace. The green coordinated with her eyes perfectly though, Trixie noted absently.

“Pssht, two highly-overrated qualities in my opinion” Katya grinned widely and swung herself onto the countertop to sip gingerly at her boiling coffee. Her feet were bare, and she kicked them vaguely in time to some music playing over the tinny speakers. With a jolt, Trixie realizes it’s Kate Bush. Wuthering Heights, naturally.

“Lucky you think that, seeing as you seem to have so little of either.”

“Get out of my store, you uncouth oaf”

Trixie smirked, and crossed her legs primly. “Nope, you invited me. I know you want me here.”

Katya stopped kicking erratically, and tipped her head slowly to one side. She winked, and several sparks fizzed through Trixie’s brain. “Maybe I do. I did only have instant, after all.”

Trixie cleared her throat unsteadily. “Y’know, I was really grateful for you saving my ass from breakdownmageddon, I just wanted to bring you something to say thanks. I tried to drop by on Sunday actually, but I couldn’t find the place at all. Silly really, I’m usually pretty good with directions.”

“We were closed”

“No I mean, I literally couldn’t find the store, like, anywhere. I must’ve been looking in completely the wrong direction or something.”

Katya smiled enigmatically. “As I said, we were closed. Makes us kinda tricky to find.”

“Riiiiiiight.” Trixie tapped her nose. “Gotcha. Who’s we by the way? Have you got a retail assistant secreted away back there ready to jump out at unsuspecting customers when they least expect it?”

“Oh it’s just me and Jinkx. She covers Saturdays so I can go to my coven meeting.”

“Your what?!”

“Co-ven meet-ing Barbie. Witches. Broomsticks and potions and shit, y’know!”

“Well now you’re shitting me. What are you really doing? Farmers market? Pilates class? Therapist?”

“AA meeting, but don’t let on” Katya’s bright smile faded for a second, and Trixie reached out to her to pat her knee. Katya grasped her hand briefly, and it’s so comforting, neither let go.

“Come on, I wanna show you my paintings” Katya jumped down and started dragging Trixie by the hand into the back of the shop enthusiastically. “Well, actually they’re more mixed media. Mainly cassette tapes and chalk at the moment. They’re gonna make me super famous!”

“Sure they are, Picasso”. Trixie allowed herself to be pulled into a room full of terrifying ‘artwork’ with little resistance. She was already falling under Katya’s spell.


End file.
